White Horse
by Muffinzelda
Summary: After leaving the White Horse pub in Ramblin' Boy, Robbie and Laura have no more secrets from each other. Robbie learns of Laura's first marriage… to a certain spin doctor from another series. This is essentially a Robson romance and not a proper cross-over, but knowledge of the Thick of It would enhance the reading. New chapters 3-7 will chronicle their further misadventures.
1. Immediately Following Ramblin' Boy

Disclaimer: This story is for fan purposes only. All the characters are property of their respective owners (not me!) and are used here without permission.

Acknowledgements: This story has been percolating for a long time and came from a convoluted mess of inspiration. I should start by thanking the people on Tumblr who have pointed out that Clare Holman and Peter Capaldi have played the role of married couple on more than one occasion, and that there was clarinet music in Malcolm Tucker's home that could possibly belong to Laura Hobson. So a Hobson-Tucker union is not my original idea, but I find it incredibly plausible for their younger days. I always thought that would be a fun story to write, but I realized that I lack the creativity and… umm, vocabulary… to write dialogue for Malcolm Tucker. In celebration of Peter Capaldi becoming the 12th Doctor Who, I decided it was time to just give it my best. That meant writing about Malcolm in the third person, so I offer my apologies in advance to any readers who are hoping he'll put in an appearance. Also, the Taylor Swift song White Horse is partially to blame for this story. See what I mean? A convoluted mess of inspiration…

* * *

Once upon a time, little Laura Hobson believed that her Prince Charming would ride up on a white horse and carry her off to his far away kingdom. But she often reminded herself that was in the distant past, just like Robbie Lewis' proclivity for having fun- as she had recently teased him at a sidewalk café. Yet despite many years of disillusionment, she hadn't been completely wrong. The White Horse in question was not an equine at all but rather a pub, and instead of being carried away, she was walking side by side with a man as enamored of her as she was of him, in perfect step.

Robbie Lewis and Laura Hobson maintained a hurried pace, both excited to resume what they had begun with a passionate kiss in the pub. They didn't speak, but they were both of one mind as to where they were going. They didn't let go of one another until he needed both hands to unlock the front door to his building.

Robbie was already pawing at his own tie as they entered the foyer and approached the door to his flat.

"I've never actually been inside your flat before."

"It's not much; I hope you won't be disappointed. Maybe I should ask you to close your eyes."

She laughed as she shut her eyelids and held her hands out in front of her. "Lead the way."

He opened the door, pulled her across the threshold and into his arms. He kicked the door closed as his lips found hers once more.

When they at last broke apart, they smiled lovingly at one another.

"Where are me manners? Do you want another beer, or should we switch to wine?"

"Wine would be lovely."

"Why don't you pick a bottle while I go freshen up."

"You have an impressive selection here, Robbie!"

"Erm, I keep receiving them as gifts over the years, but I don't get the opportunity to open a bottle very often. No one to share it with, I suppose."

"I shall be happy to help you in that endeavour," she said as she found glasses and he slipped off to the loo.

When he returned, they both had shed their jackets and Laura was seated on the couch with two glasses of wine poured. He joined her there, and after a few tentative sips of wine the glasses were posed back on the coffee table and they were closely snuggled together. A masculine fragrance mixed with the merlot in the air between them. "Did you just put on cologne?" She asked.

"No, just wanted to add a fresh coat of deodorant, pet."

"Charming!" she laughed, so happy to be experiencing Robbie Lewis with all her senses. As their hands and lips curiously explored one another, Laura found herself willingly gravitating towards a supine posture. However, Robbie's couch was only a love seat, so they both wrestled awkwardly, unsure of how to accommodate their legs in a small space. He was pressing her back into the arm of the couch, with more and more pressure as he anchored more of himself on to her.

"Oof!" She let out as he shifted his legs again, putting his weight on her trying to maintain his balance on the love seat.

Robbie sat up and saw her neck bent against the arm of the couch. "Sorry, love. Little out of practice." He helped her up and began rubbing her neck instead.

"That's all right, Robbie, but maybe it's time for some new throw pillows. Nice big cushiony ones."

"Throw pillows, good idea." He reckoned that maybe he should buy some new towels too. They both took a sip of wine.

"You know, Robbie, it was less than a week ago that I teased you about your misplaced sense of wild abandon. It seems I was wrong."

"Heh heh, I'm just excited, is all. But we've no need to rush, do we now, love?"

"We have all the time in the world, Robbie."

She put down her glass and reclined on the love seat with her legs tented across his lap as he sat upright. He said somewhat out of the blue, "tell me everything, Laura."

"What do you mean?"

"I've known you for years, but not the way you know me: Tyneside, the kids, and all. I've been told I wear me heart on me sleeve. In some ways, though, I hardly know you. Maybe it's me own fault because I wasn't paying enough attention, but you've always been a bit guarded too, no?" She conceded a nod. "Where were you born, Laura?"

"Not too far away- Coventry." She stopped there despite his expectant gaze.

"Is that all? Come on, Laura, you can do better than that."

"Isn't this how you interrogate suspects, Inspector?"

"No, sometimes I make Hathaway break out the thumb screws. But that won't be necessary; I have ways of making you talk." He took her left foot into his hand and removed her sock. He began to massage her foot.

"Mmm, you're very effective, Robbie. I lived with my parents and my younger brother. When I was young, I wanted to be a gymnast. I was very disciplined, obsessed with nutrition and kinesthetics. I think that's where my love of anatomy came from, but it's kind of ironic that after spending so many years training to be flexible that I would spend the rest of my life with a bunch of stiff corpses. I was quite good; I placed in several competitions both individually and as part of a team. But I wasn't good enough to compete internationally or make a career of it, so I focused on my studies. I eventually had to give up gymnastics to go to uni. That's where I gave in to a few vices: drinking, smoking, and you know…" (Robbie raised his eyebrows) "…binging on garlic bread." She smirked to let him know how much she was enjoying teasing him. "Cigarettes these days are rare of course, but I still like to have a stiff drink now and then- as you well know. After med school, I went to London and worked in a pathology lab. Made some contacts in the Met, and ended up in forensics."

"But you wanted to come back to Oxford?"

She nodded and gave him a half smile, but he knew she was holding something back. He put down her left foot. He didn't have to say anything; the question was in his eyes.

"Everything, Robbie?" He nodded and picked up her right foot this time to resume his ministrations. "All right, then. I was married- albeit briefly. He had political ambitions and a vile tongue. Needless to say, it didn't work out. I left and came back to Oxford." Robbie was stunned, but his face didn't move. "What, stop giving me that look, Robbie."

"What look?"

"The look where you're doing absolutely nothing with your face!" Now Robbie was laughing at her exasperated facial expression. "You know, for a man who claims to wear his heart on his sleeve, you are incredibly talented at hiding what you're really thinking."

"Just a little surprised is all."

"What do you mean, surprised?"

"I had no idea."

"Oh come off it, Robbie. Don't pretend you haven't done a background check on me."

"I haven't."

"Not even after what happened with Ligeia? You must have."

"No, I swear it. I asked for your alibi but that was the extent of it. I'll admit that I was led astray by some of the evidence in that case—but we were researching Mary Gwilliam's connection to adoptions at the maternity hospital, not you specifically. Whatever questions I had, I asked you to your face. Please believe me." Suddenly Robbie was on the defensive; he had just solidified his relationship with Laura and was terrified he might lose her just as quickly.

"OK, OK, Robbie, don't get upset." _Maybe Robbie trusted me after all…_ she thought. "Where were we?" She asked in her sultry voice, hoping he would kiss her again to make her forget all about that shallow grave in Holmwood Park… but the detective had a different lead to follow up on.

"You were married to a bloke who… lacked my Northern charm?"

_Actually, he was Scottish, so he may have you beat in latitude, though certainly not in terms of charm…_ she thought, but she didn't say it because the less said about Malcolm Tucker the better.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Not a clue, love."

"Hmph. Morse knew. He admitted to me over pints one night that he'd looked into my credentials and background." DCI Martin Johnson had known too; he'd tried to use Laura for personal gain, wondering if the well-connected 'Malc' owed her any favours. She'd broken up with Johnson immediately thereafter.

"Morse." Robbie shook his head. "That sounds like him all right, but he didn't share half of what he knew about anything, and certainly not about his lady friends." Laura raised an eyebrow. "Not that you were… I didn't mean that you and he… You're too young for me, let alone Morse. Bollocks, I'm cocking this up again, aren't I?"

"No, Robbie! You're wonderful- a clean slate!" _I'm a line item entry on Malcolm's Wikipedia page; that's how easy it would be to know the truth, but Robbie hasn't even Googled my name! _ She thought, then immediately realised how foolish that sounded even in her head. Of course Robbie wouldn't have spent his loneliest hours Googling her like a silly school girl… like she herself had Googled him to read of his exploits occasionally mentioned in the Oxford Mail.

She continued. "Can we simplify things a bit? I'm happy to answer any specific questions you have, but in broad terms, the omnishambles that I called a marriage isn't worth revisiting anyway." She paused, giving him the opening to ask.

He hesitated before asking, "Did he ever hurt you?"

"Never. Not physically, anyway. Master of the tongue lashing he was, though. But you know me, I give as good as I get." _Malcolm was my ideal sparring partner, not my ideal husband…_

"Good. That's all I need to know, then." Robbie had consciously entered into this relationship with Laura assuming that she would have a more varied amorous experience than his own, and he had already decided that he wasn't going to press her for any of the details. He was looking for a new start and extended the same to Laura.

Laura made an overture of her own. "I know that it was different for you, marriage. Now that we're… more than friends…" (Robbie grinned.) "… you can still talk about Val anytime you need to. The past doesn't bother me."

He nodded in thanks.

"We have each other now," she said as she sat up and refilled their wine glasses. The two clung to each other the rest of the night, the ardent kisses of earlier having given way to tender caresses that went a long way towards healing them both.

* * *

"I love you, bonny lass," Robbie whispered into her hair at some point in the night. Laura was not sure if he was awake or asleep and was a bit afraid he'd mistaken her for Val.

"A few hours ago, you admitted that you hardly knew me." Laura said, quietly muffled into a bed pillow.

The same sleepy voice answered her in a heartbeat. "Nice girl, gymnast from Coventry." He gave her a little extra squeeze, tightening their flesh-to-flesh sleeping arrangement. Laura was relieved; she never should have doubted him and never would again.

"I love you too, my proper copper from Newcastle."


	2. Several Years Later

Chapter 2- Several years in the future

Robbie and Laura built their life together from that point forward, never looking back.

And then came the day that Fleet Street came knocking at the door of the home they shared. The retired detective opened the door to a woman looking for Dr Hobson. She reminded Robbie of someone he'd once interviewed years ago at Lady Mathilda's College. That alone sent his intuition into a lather. "And you are?" Robbie inquired.

"Marianne Swift of the Guardian."

"Dr Hobson doesn't comment on any of her cases to the press."

"What about political figures?"

"She's apolitical. Has some strong views about the NHS, mind you, but she wouldn't share those with you."

"Look, I'm not just any journalist. I wrote a biography of Malcolm Tucker several years back, when he went to prison for perjury and corruption."

"Ah," said Robbie. Suddenly it all made sense to Robbie. _Political ambitions and a vile tongue… _the notorious political puppet-master Malcolm Tucker was the mysterious man from Laura's past.

"Malcolm has just been released from prison and has been offered an inflammatory pundit's programme with ITV. They're striking while the iron is hot."

"And this concerns Dr Hobson how?"

"I was wondering if she would share how she feels about it."

Robbie shrugged. "Everyone deserves a second chance. But those are my words. Dr Hobson herself would issue a strict 'no comment.' If that's all?" He didn't wait for Marianne Swift to answer, instead slamming the door in her face. (As a former detective, he had been on the receiving end of many such slams and rather enjoyed dishing one out for once.)

Robbie took out his mobile to call Laura, but she didn't answer. "Laura, something important has come up and I'm coming to the mortuary to talk." He peered out the window. Swift's car was still parked furtively down the street, but certainly within viewing distance of their home. He didn't want Laura coming home to an ambush, so he figured he might as well lead the journalist to the police station.

Laura was in the middle of a post-mortem when Robbie rapped his knuckles on the door and entered. She was addressing one of Robbie's former colleagues, DI Grainger. "Look, I know what you want me to help you prove, but there is no chemical biomarker for that kind of psychotic break!"

"Forgive the intrusion, doctor." How Robbie enjoyed reprising his 'Inspector Lewis' voice! "When you're done, I need to speak with you in your office. Take your time, though. It's important, but not urgent."

A look of worry crossed Laura's face. "Is everything all right? Lyn and the kids?"

"Everyone's fine. Just come to your office as soon as you're done here." He nodded to Grainger, "Good to see you, mate."

Laura entered her office in a right state. "What's going on, Robbie?"

"Malcolm Tucker is getting out of prison." He said calmly to mitigate her shock at hearing Malcolm's name from Robbie's lips. "A journalist from the Guardian came to the house." Laura's face contorted into an anguished expression. "It's all right, love," he reassured her.

"Malcolm is harmless. I'm more worried about that Marianne Swift. That's who it was, wasn't it?"

Robbie nodded, and Laura continued. "She may work for the Guardian, but her independent work is nothing more than tabloid trash. She was writing a tell-all biography on Malcolm following his arrest in 2012. Harassed me for weeks trying to get an interview."

Laura went to her filing cabinet and dug around the back, trying to find something long since buried. She extracted a glossy hardcover book from the cabinet. "Ellen sent me a copy." She handed it to Robbie; it was a copy of Marianne Swift's tell-all.

"Thoughtful friend, our Ellen."

"I asked her to do it, Robbie. She didn't talk to Swift, though I don't know which one of my and Malcolm's former acquaintances did. Go ahead, read it." Robbie opened the book to the page that Ellen had marked for Laura, an excerpt chronicling her marriage.

_Malcolm Tucker found in Laura Hobson a partner as brilliant and ambitious as himself. They shared a volatile romance, and their coupling was worthy of the best bodice-ripping novels. But with such passionate chemistry came fiery rows as well. They were young and idealistic at the start of their respective careers, before all the politics and corpses jaded them both. Got a skeleton in your closet? Malcolm's your man; burying the corpses is what he does best. Her job? Forensic pathologist- giving a voice to literal corpses, providing evidence as to what had happened so that someone would advocate for justice on their behalf. Malcolm and Laura were two sides of a coin; they learned a lot from one another, but in the end they couldn't harmonize their lives together. She didn't want to be a political wife, nor did she have the temperament._

Robbie had read enough and closed the book. Laura scanned his face for a reaction, fearing jealousy but finding none. She spoke. "It's eerie to read about yourself in the third person. How dare she write about me like she knows who I am. It makes me sick, Robbie."

"I can see why." He put his arms around Laura, silently thankful that no one would ever write about the pair of them that way. (A/N: *wink*) "Bodice-ripping? Crikey. I'm just glad that we have the, erm, passionate chemistry without the fiery rows, love." She was so grateful that he could find some levity in the situation, albeit short-lived. "But there's something else you should know, Laura. Swift followed me here from the house. If you can clear your schedule, I think that you should tell work that there's a family emergency and we need to go up to Lyn's for a few days."

Laura agreed. "Give me a few hours to finish my open cases, then we'll go."

Robbie trusted that she would be safe inside the police complex that also housed the forensic mortuary, so he went home to pack a few things, and then returned to the mortuary.

At the end of the work day, Robbie escorted Laura from the station to her car. Marianne Swift was there waiting. "Dr Hobson! Do you have anything to say about Malcolm Tucker's release?"

"I have no comment."

"Your boyfriend said that everyone deserves a second chance. Do you agree?"

Robbie stepped in and shielded Laura from Marianne Swift. "She has no comment. If you continue to harass Dr Hobson, she will file a restraining order. Do I make myself clear?" He bellowed.

He zapped his car to unlock the passenger door and hustled Laura inside. He entered on his side then quickly drove off.

"Thank you." Laura whispered. She watched carefully in the rear-view mirror and saw no one behind them. She let out a deep sigh of relief. "I'm glad you believe in second chances, Robbie." She meant it for both of them, and for Malcolm Tucker as well. Robbie took his hand off the gear shift for a moment to squeeze her knee, and then moved it back to accelerate onto the motorway. "How soon 'til we're at Lyn's?"

"How fast will you let me drive, pet?"

Laura slept late the next morning, feeling safe in the cocoon of Lyn's small and busy home. She came downstairs to find Robbie done with his breakfast, helping his grandson study the various capitals of the Commonwealth. Lyn offered to scramble Laura some eggs as Robbie and the lad ploughed through Canada.

"New Brunswick?"

"Fredericton!"

"British Columbia?"

"Victoria!"

"Bright lad! I thought it was Vancouver, meself." Robbie paused long enough to give Laura the paper, folded to a section in the middle. "Not to worry, Tucker's release didn't even make the front page, and there's no mention of you whatsoever." He would shield her from people who didn't have her best interest at heart, but knew her well enough never to shield her from knowledge. Robbie knew that Laura would always want to know the details.

Laura perused the article, and then put the paper down. "Thank you for taking me away from all this, Robbie. Thanks, Lyn, for the safe haven, as it were."

"That's what family is for," answered Lyn, as she sprinkled some salt and pepper into the still-runny eggs.

Robbie responded as well. "I'd take you all the way to…" He paused to look at a flash card. "What's the capital of the Yukon Territories, lad?"

"Whitehorse!"

"That's right!" He turned back to Laura. "I'd take you all the way to Whitehorse if I had to in order to keep you safe and away from prying eyes."

Laura smiled. "I'd settle for the White Horse pub."

Little Laura Hobson was about the same age as Robbie's grandson when she dreamt of her Prince Charming carrying her off on a white horse to his far away kingdom. And after all this time, that is exactly what happened.

* * *

Author note: Apologies to anyone who really wanted to see Malcolm turn up at the police station and do a double take when he met Jean Innocent. I'm rather fond of Malcolm despite his foul mouth, so I do not mean to portray him as the bad guy. He is, however, an intriguing foil to Robbie Lewis- the love of Laura's life. I'd love to hear a Malcolm/Robbie verbal ping-pong game full of idiomatic northern expressions, but I just don't have the skill set to write that! I never seek to dictate "head cannon" for character back stories or anything else, but I think that that this triangle is a great one for anyone else who wants to pursue it in their own way…


	3. White Horse: déjà vu, part 1

Author Note: I dedicate this to Klswhite, who is always the first to review anything I write and who wrote the epic tale of Laura Hobson and Malcolm Tucker in her story _White Horse Rides Again._ No one does a saga better than she does. If it weren't for her story, I wouldn't have been able to flesh out my own ideas. I don't have head cannon, so one of my favorite parts about fanfic is that there is always room for different versions of a tale. That said, here is my interpretation of what might have been- additional chapters for _White Horse_. As I said in my preface to _White Horse_, putting Laura and Malcolm together wasn't my idea to begin with anyway, so this one truly belongs to the internet.

Chapter 3 takes place a year or so after we left Robbie and Laura at Lyn's house in chapter 2. Also, I apologise in advance to anyone Scottish…

* * *

Robbie Lewis was sprawled out on his couch alone, nursing a beer in front of the telly. _I shouldn't be watching this,_ Robbie chided himself. _How would Laura feel if she knew how curious I am?_ But he was too engrossed to look away. With Laura away at a forensics convention in London, it did not take long for Robbie to fall into old habits- rang his daughter and left a message; wondered about his son but didn't call; microwaved his dinner and retired to the couch.

So there he sat, mesmerized by what he saw on the screen: Malcolm Tucker verbally eviscerating an MP on his talk show. He felt more than a bit voyeuristic as he watched Tucker in action because he couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like for Laura to have been married to him. _Crikey, he's a right bastard, isn't he? _ It helped him put some things in perspective. He and Val had had an idyllic marriage- even their rows were fairly civil. Laura, on the other hand, did not hesitate to let Robbie know when something was upsetting her. This led Robbie to worry about their couple sometimes, but now he understood where she was coming from.

Robbie's mobile buzzed- Laura, of course. He fumbled for the remote to shut off the telly before answering.

"Hello, love."

"Hi." Laura answered with her sultry voice. "Just calling to say good night."

"Glad you did. You know, pet, I realized something tonight."

"What's that?"

"I realized that when we row, it's really not that bad…"

Laura was surprised; that wasn't what she'd expected him to say. "What brought on that revelation?"

"Just something I saw on the telly. Nothing special really," he fibbed.

* * *

Friday afternoon, Robbie was driving down to London to meet Laura whose conference was coming to a close. They would see a show the next day and head home Sunday. He got a late start and hit traffic on the motorway. He called to let her know that there was no way he would be there in time to meet her for dinner.

* * *

Laura Hobson was admiring her new dress in the mirror of her hotel room. It'd been a busy week, but she'd managed to eke out the time to go shopping during lunch. The front desk rang to say that a man was waiting for her in the hotel bar. She grinned, thinking that Robbie meant to surprise her by showing up on time after all. She applied her lip gloss, smacked her lips, and dashed to the lift. She would greet Robbie in style.

She entered the restaurant, Laura scanned the tables and the bar area for Robbie, but didn't see him. Nevertheless, someone spoke her name. "Laura."

She froze.

"Laura." The voice spoke to her again; it was a familiar brogue. She turned towards a table and found none other than Malcolm Tucker. His hair had gone grey and his face looked gaunt, much thinner than she remembered. He beckoned her to join him.

"Hello, Malcolm." She acknowledged him, but she did not move.

"A drink for old time's sake?" He noticed that she was still hesitant. "How does the song go, Auld Lang Syne and all that."

But Robbie Burns was not the Robbie on her mind at present. "How stereotypically Scottish of you. Sorry about your referendum, by the way."

"Bah. The referendum was a horrible idea, but I would have loved to be part of that government. I could have taken over the whole country in the space of two years. Guaranteed."

Laura couldn't help but laugh. Malcolm knew he'd disarmed her. She sat down, and Malcolm poured her a glass of champagne.

"How did you know I was here, Malcolm?"

"I saw you this afternoon, leaving a restaurant, from across the street. Even at a distance, I'd know you anywhere, Laura. You haven't aged a day. Me, on the other hand… so many wrinkles. Prison will do that to a man."

Laura sighed; Malcolm could be charming when he was self-effacing, but she knew that was a rarity. He continued. "By the time I'd crossed the street, you'd said good bye to your companions and got into a cab. The group you'd been with didn't appear to be Londoners, so I asked where they were from and what brought them to the city. Forensics convention, they said. It was easy enough to figure out which hotel conference centre you lot were holed up in."

Laura nodded. She had parted company this afternoon in order to go shopping.

They continued to chat amiably enough, catching up on the years gone by. After the last of the champagne had disappeared, Malcolm switched to something stronger. He grew bolder with each sip. "How come you never remarried?" Malcolm ventured.

"I don't know, Malcolm." But they both knew why. Laura continued. "I live with someone now, though."

"He'll never know if we sneak off to your room for a bit of…" Malcolm was cut off by Laura.

"No," she said definitively. "He's on his way here now, in fact, to join me for the weekend. He'll be here any second." She looked over her shoulder nervously.

"I don't believe you, darling," Malcolm said, only half joking. "How do I know he's real, your mystery man?"

Laura took out her phone and showed him a picture. "Grandkids," she said. "He's given me a family, even though it was the last thing I expected to have in my life."

Malcolm smiled at her and did another shot. "Congratulations."

Laura felt her mobile buzz and stole a glance at it. It was Robbie, having just arrived in the lobby. "I have to go, Malc. Take care."

Malcolm grabbed her by the wrist. His eyes betrayed his desperation. "Don't leave me here alone, Laura." After a long moment trapped by Malcolm's pleading eyes, Laura suddenly knew it was too late for her to make a graceful exit. She'd caught that unique whiff of wood glue… and microwave garlic bread; it was unmistakable. She turned around and greeted Robbie Lewis with a passionate kiss.

Malcolm interrupted them. "Oh for f*&amp;$'s sake!" Malcolm sized up Robbie as he broke away from Laura.

So there stood the "new" man in Laura's life, clad in a plaid shirt with his belongings in a rucksack, save for a garment bag with a suit slung over his shoulder. Robbie Lewis shifted the garment bag and extended his right hand with a forced smile.

"Mr. Tucker, I presume. I'm Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis." It was unlike Robbie to use his full title, especially in the years since retirement, but he was eager to impress. Or at the very least, not to be intimidated by the spin doctor.

"I don't care if you're the #$* head of MI5. You're the reason Laura doesn't want to have anything to do with the likes of me."

Malcolm watched as Robbie retracted his hand and put his arm around Laura protectively. "Is everything all right, Laura?" Robbie whispered.

Malcolm continued his rant. "Look at you, you're soft, like a *&amp;^ teddy bear." Lewis grinned at the effect that he was having on Tucker, who continued to ramble. "Bah, who am I kidding, I bet he's more lumberjack than Paddington, am I right, Laura? I bet she never cheated on you, Mr #$%^ Woodsman."

"Please don't, Malcolm…" Laura tried discretely.

"Excuse me, Detective Inspector *&amp;^% Woodsman."

Laura spoke up with more authority this time. "That's enough, Malcolm. You don't want to make a scene. Or, maybe you do. But I have no interest in being part of your tantrum or publicity stunt, whichever the case may be. Let's go, Robbie." Laura started to walk away, but Malcolm grabbed Robbie by the arm.

When Robbie turned around, he saw Malcolm with his fists up, continuing to rant. "Go ahead, punch me in the face. Laura pretends she's not interested, but I bet she'd love to see you hit me square between the eyes. You know what I've put her through; you know you want to punch my %&amp;*# lights out. Come on, now, don't make me throw the first punch." Malcolm swung in Robbie's direction.

"Stop it!" Cried Laura as she tugged Robbie away from the arc created by Malcolm's half-hearted fist.

Robbie Lewis kept his cool as he always did. "I'd be happy to call you cab, mate. Or I could call the police and have you arrested for threatening an officer. Your choice."

"# &amp;! boy scout, yeah, that's what you are. Get out of my sight. Take her with you. Too beautiful for me to look at anymore." Malcolm stumbled over to the bar area. Robbie took Laura by the hand and they silently walked away in perfect step.

* * *

Next: Laura shares her tale of woe...


	4. White Horse: déjà vu, part 2

Waiting for the lift to go up to their room seemed to take forever, but once they stepped inside and the doors closed behind them, Robbie could feel Laura breathe a sigh of relief. He sought to further ease the tension. "That's quite a dress, love." The dress was an iridescent grey that made her seem to shimmer in silver.

"The dress?" Laura had forgotten all about her plans to surprise Robbie. "Right. The dress was for you, Robbie. I didn't know he'd be there, I swear. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You've nothing to apologize for. I'm not one to take the ramblings of a drunken lonely old man seriously. I'm just glad that the drunken lonely old man isn't me. I'm quite lucky too, if that dress is intended for me to behold."

He saw her lip quiver. She looked haunted and lost in the present; he might as well be gazing into a mirror of his own past. "Tell you what, love. When we're back up to the room we'll order room service. You need a bite to eat and then you can tell me all about your conference." Laura too realized that he was treating her exactly as she had taken care of him all those years ago- with food, drink, and sympathetic conversation to distract him from his troubles.

Laura consented to this plan, more or less. "That sounds good, Robbie. But I'd like a few minutes to myself if that's OK." When they entered the room, she made her way to the balcony. Robbie let her go with a small kiss on the hand.

Half an hour later, he joined her out in the night air. Coming behind her, he wrapped a sweater around her shoulders. "Time to come in, love. The food is here, and I ordered you one of those exotic salads you are fond of." She took his hand and returned inside.

As Laura poked at her salad, Robbie asked, "So, any good panel discussions at your conference?"

"Robbie Lewis, you couldn't care less about the panel discussions."

"Sure I do," he said facetiously. "I bet they had some fascinating topics. 'Corpses: Are they trying to tell you something?' No, wait, 'Proper Laboratory Procedures: Putting the Rigor Back in Rigor Mortis.' "

Laura's face did register Robbie's bad jokes. "Cheeky sod. I take my job seriously." So did Robbie, and like a good detective, he had done his job of breaking the ice to get her to talk. "All right then, let's address the elephant in the room. Robbie, now that you have a frame of reference for all of this, I think it's time I told you why my marriage collapsed."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. Malcolm just tossed my adultery at your feet, and I would like to set the record straight once and for all."

"You can tell me anything you need to, Laura. I promise not to be upset for things that happened twenty-five years ago."

"I loved him very much once, Robbie." She checked Robbie's face for signs of distress, but found him unmoved. "But despite that, well, you know I have a flirtatious side, and I'll admit that it's gotten me into trouble more than once. I was working on attachment to the Met. Malcolm was a press liaison for an MP whose star was on the rise, but he was facing a difficult re-election. Malcolm wanted to see his man succeed at any cost. He encouraged me to be nice to a certain high-ranking police official that he wanted in his pocket."

Laura stopped when she noticed that Robbie had a vague grin on his face. "What?"

"I used to impose on Val a bit too, bringing Morse home for dinner unannounced so many times. She was a little put out, I guess…"

Laura met his eyes with a weary gaze. "Unless," she bit her tongue to stop herself from finishing that thought aloud. _Unless you asked Val to give Morse a blow job, I hardly think you can draw a comparison, Robbie. _She shook her head sadly. "You have no idea, Robbie."

"You'll have to tell me then, love."

"It started innocently enough. I was just flirting as is my nature, but the policeman in question eventually took this to mean that he could proposition me for certain sexual favours. I refused as politely as I could, and ran home to Malcolm, expecting that he would be furious with the man and that he would defend my honour. But no, to my horror, he encouraged me to proceed as suggested by this philandering bastard. Malcolm, my husband, actually wanted me to trade sexual favours for information that he could then hypothetically use to slander his opponent in the re-election campaign."

Laura could still hear Malcolm's voice in her head.

_'It's not love, Laura, just sex.' _

_'That's not just sex, it's prostitution! You're my husband, not my bloody pimp!' _

"I was devastated to realize that the one person I had vowed to love the rest of my life was so easily willing to use me as a pawn. I packed a bag and went to a hotel; as far as I was concerned, the marriage was over. I was hurt and angry. I decided to give Malcolm exactly what he wanted: I called the policeman, told him that I had reconsidered his indecent proposal and that I was waiting for him in the hotel. So, yes. I went to bed with a man who was not my husband. I nodded off, and when I awoke, he was on the phone with his wife, telling her he loved her. He'd said that he had to work late. I have never been more ashamed in my life. I hope that you can understand that, Robbie."

Robbie took her hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. "I'm still here with you, Laura."

"I went home and told Malcolm what I'd done- and that I was leaving. I'd found a friend who was willing to sublet a room in her flat. He was furious. The ensuing row..." She shook her head as her voice trailed off.

"I can only imagine, pet."

"A month later, Malcolm came to me and swore that he had reformed and that he couldn't live without me. We tried to reconcile, but it was never the same. He was always jealous. And I overheard him all too often on the phone, berating, bullying, and even threatening his associates. Each time, I was reminded that people are just pawns to him, that I too had been a pawn in his power struggle. I knew I could never raise children with a man who was so cruel to others. His career was really taking off, but I saw no future there."

"I didn't know that you wanted children."

"I don't know. Maybe I did when I was young. Not later. I never trusted another man after Malcolm, not completely. Not until you, Robbie, and it took us years to get there, didn't it?"

"That's OK. I like the scenic route, love."

"So do I, Robbie. So do I."

* * *

Bleary-eyed Laura Hobson woke up in a hotel room lying next to a man. He was on his mobile talking softly with another woman; he told her he loved her and promised to ring her back soon. Laura listened intently as she inhaled her lover's musk. She had a sense of déjà vu, but this time, instead of feeling the shame of her affair, her heart was brimming with joy. The man rolled over to face Laura.

"Our Lyn is sorry to have called so early; she wanted to get to me before her shift at the hospital. I forgot to ring her last night to say I'd made it to London. She still worries about her old man, you know."

Laura put her head on his chest. "Robbie Lewis, you have single-handedly restored my faith in mankind."

Robbie snorted at her exaggeration. "That might be the most cynical thing I've ever heard, and coming from someone who shared an office with Hathaway for years, that is really saying something."

"No, really, Robbie. I had always wondered what it would be like to be with one of the good ones. A man who was home every night, devoted to his family. And now I know. It's nothing short of wonderful."

* * *

Author note: I was going to end it here, but KLSWhite insisted that Malcolm have a happy ending too. So, tune in tomorrow when the plot thickens! (Wait, there's a plot? OK fine, a plot develops!)


	5. Beating a Dead White Horse: part 1

The next afternoon, while Robbie and Laura were out enjoying a show, Malcolm Tucker was alone in his London flat, ruminating. There was a knock at the door, and when Malcolm opened it he came face to face with a pair of badges from the Oxfordshire police.

"Mr. Tucker. I'm DI Hathaway, this is DS Maddox."

"Come in, I've been expecting you," Malcolm said in a tone that was grandiosely sarcastic.

"Have you?" Hathaway asked.

"Doesn't take long for you bully cops to protect your own, now does it?"

Both Hathaway and Maddox were confused, but Maddox spoke up first.

"I assure you that there is no 'old boys club' here," DS Maddox said.

"Whatever you say, cupcake." Malcolm paused before adding, "please understand that I say that as a scofflaw, not a misogynist."

Hathaway and Maddox were not amused. Hathaway resumed his questions. "Mr. Tucker, where were you last evening between 6 and 9 PM?"

"You already know, or else you wouldn't be here."

"For the record, then." Hathaway prompted.

"I was having drinks with my ex-wife." Malcolm volunteered reluctantly.

"Can she corroborate that? We'll need to check," said Hathaway.

"You'll have to ring her yourself since she won't answer for me." Malcolm stared Hathaway down. "Go ahead, copper. Make the call. I expect you know her well." Hathaway continued to stare back at Malcolm Tucker until the latter muttered something, took out his phone, checked some information, and wrote it on a piece of paper for Hathaway.

Hathaway received the folded slip of paper without looking at it. "Thank you. I'm here because—"

"You're here because I was shamelessly vocal about my desire to beat the snot out of one RRRobbie Lewis." Malcolm trilled the R with relish.

A nonplussed Hathaway tossed his head towards Maddox as if to say, 'go find out what he is talking about,' and Maddox dutifully left the flat to make a call to Lewis.

"Mr. Tucker, I'm here because I have a murdered body in Oxford."

"Wait just a second, now, I've got nothing to do with any murder. I wanted to rough Lewis up, not kill him. I may have been wretched to Laura in the past, but I would never kill the bloke she's started over with."

At this moment Hathaway opened the slip of paper containing the contact information for Malcolm's ex-wife. Hobson, of course. Hathaway swallowed and wondered what else he was missing here.

"No, Mr. Tucker. I believe we're at cross purposes here. The victim is not Lewis. It is someone else entirely."

* * *

Several hours earlier, long before daybreak, Hathaway arrived at a crime scene where he found his sergeant Lizzie Maddox conferring with Dr. Cook. The pathologist couldn't tell if it had been an accident or intentional, but the tire tracks on their victim's body left little doubt: a man had met a brutal and suspicious end.

"Sir." Maddox said, greeting Hathaway. "Our victim is Philip Beaumont. Thirty-five years old, run down at considerable speed in the middle of the night."

"Phil Beaumont?" Hathaway asked. "I've heard that name before."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, on an old case several years ago. He was a brilliant student but didn't fit in here in Oxford- a real buck-the-establishment type. He wrote his girlfriend's doctoral thesis for her; possibly because he loved her, but more than likely it was just for the thrill of being subversive. In either case, she broke up with him shortly thereafter."

"So the plagiarism would give the ex-girlfriend motive for wanting to dispatch him?"

"Well, not exactly, because the truth about the authorship had already come out. The girlfriend- Emma Golding, if I recall correctly- was destined for great things, so her doctoral advisor had actually killed a man who had threatened to expose Golding's lie. The whole truth surfaced when the professor went to trial. Still, we'd best try to catch up with Ms. Golding after we search Beaumont's flat."

"Right, sir."

* * *

As the sun came up that morning, Hathaway and Maddox were briefing Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent. "Ma'am," Hathaway began. "Beaumont's desk was full of papers and notes about the politician-turned-pundit Malcolm Tucker. Gurdip is still working on the computer, but from the files he's found, Beaumont appeared to be studying Tucker quite intently."

"And his phone records indicated that Beaumont had received a text from a pay-as-you-go mobile instructing him when and where to meet- in regards to 'the secrets of MT.' The meeting was two blocks from where he was killed." Maddox supplied.

Hathaway never did quite master Lewis' method of 'act now, apologise later,' so here he was asking permission from his boss. "I know that you don't like us to make enemies in high places, ma'am, but I think that we should speak with Tucker ASAP."

Jean Innocent sighed. "Agreed. I believe a trip to London is in order for you two. And Hathaway, handle this one delicately."

* * *

Next: Lewis and Hobson get involved in the case, much to Hathaway's consternation.

Completely gratuitous author note: I'm sure that the actress is perfectly lovely, but I really despise both the Quality of Mercy's Emma Golding and Downton Abbey's Sarah Bunting. She is trouble wherever she goes!


	6. Beating a Dead White Horse: part 2

Malcolm Tucker sat in an interrogation room in the Oxfordshire police station alongside his solicitor. He had been loath to comply with Hathaway's request for a formal interview in Oxford, but at the same time, he wanted to clear this up once and for all. Cooperative was not often used as an adjective to describe Malcolm, but he did not want to chance having to go back to prison for any reason.

Unbeknownst to Malcolm, Laura Hobson had just burst into the station with Robbie Lewis hot on her heels. They had headed back from London as soon as Robbie had received the call from Maddox earlier. Laura was stopped by Jean Innocent when she headed towards the interview room. "Get out of my way, Jean. I'm Malcolm's…" she stopped herself.

"You're his what, Dr. Hobson?" Innocent certainly did not appreciate Hobson using her Christian name in front of her employees.

"I'm his alibi." Laura barked. Innocent noticed a pained expression in Lewis' eye.

Maddox stepped in. "Perhaps it would help us for Lewis and Hobson to observe the interview, as consultants, ma'am."

Innocent rolled her eyes before deferring to her former DI. "Only if Lewis agrees." Lewis nodded reluctantly and led Hobson down the hall to where Hathaway was conducting the interview.

They watched through the one-way mirror as Hathaway interrogated Tucker. "One more time, Mr. Tucker, for the tape, can you explain your relationship with Phil Beaumont?"

"I employed him to help me write my memoirs. There are people who are interested in my life, you see, and would pay money to read about it. I have quite a way with words myself, of course, but I have been told that I use too much… what is the phrase? Violent sexual imagery? But Phil was good. He had a way of conveying the essential meaning behind my thoughts, but without telling Joe Bloggs that his mother should have had an abortion."

"Is there anything incriminating that Phil could have used against you?"

Malcolm laughed sardonically, knowing that he was establishing his own motive. "Aye. Phil knew everything."

"Specifically?"

"Unless you're charging me with something, I don't think I should answer that." Malcolm's solicitor nodded in agreement.

"Well, then. Let's move on. Your credit card records indicate that you paid for a rental car this weekend. We found traces of car paint on the victim's body…" Hathaway didn't actually know if the paint on Beaumont's body matched any car in particular, but he hoped that Tucker would supply the rest.

"I had planned to go to Scotland this weekend, but Friday afternoon, I caught a glimpse of Laura Hobson from afar and decided that my energy was better spent remaining in London trying to see her."

(Robbie Lewis snorted from behind the one-way mirror.)

Malcolm Tucker continued. "I'm sure that you've spoken to her by now. She has probably told you exactly why I am a miserable excuse for a human being, but she must have also corroborated my story." Tucker reprised. Hathaway nodded, for Hobson had indeed vouched for Tucker, but she offered no other details to Hathaway.

Tucker continued. "I'd like to think that the worst thing that I've done in life was how I'd treated Laura, but that's not true. You know why I went to prison before. Corruption, though the most egregious offense was that I illegally obtained, and then released to the press, a man's mental health records. It was in retaliation because he dared to stand up for himself, thus causing a public rift with the party's agenda. But I never intended for him to commit suicide. I thought it was just dirty tricks, but no, someone died because I bullied him. Now I have to live with that. The last thing I would do would be to end another life on purpose."

From the other side of the glass, Hobson was feeling protective towards Malcolm Tucker. "Why does James continue harassing him? He knows that Malcolm was with me and Robbie."

By now, Lewis was fuming. "I don't buy it. It's all too convenient, his temper tantrum in London. It's like he was using us to establish an alibi. Could he have arranged for someone else to kill Beaumont? Look at his financial records. See if he was paying anyone."

"We're working on that now, sir," said Maddox.

"Robbie, Malcolm is reprehensible, but he is not a murderer! You have to believe me."

"Laura, I believe that you want him to be innocent. But I don't believe a word he says."

Hobson turned away from Lewis and stared through the one-way glass. "I hope this doesn't cause a rift between us," she said sadly.

"Only if we let it, love." Lewis put his hands on her shoulders from behind.

A PC came in and handed a folder to Maddox, who then brought it into the interview room to share with Hathaway.

Hathaway looked over the contents of the folder, then began a new line of questions. "Can you explain the large cash withdrawals you've been making from your accounts, Mr. Tucker?"

Malcolm sighed. "Look, if I ever get out of this bloody police station, I'm planning to buy property in Switzerland."

"In multiple cash installments?"

"Aye, my… banker… prefers it that way. The property will facilitate Swiss banking, if you must know. I believe the term is 'paradis fiscal.'"

"You do know that legally, Switzerland shares information with Revenue and Customs."

"Heh, don't tell that to HSBC."

"That sounds rather dodgy."

"Of course it sounds #$%^# dodgy! It's meant to…" but Malcolm's solicitor silenced him before he finished his thought.

The lawyer spoke, "Unless you're charging my client…" but Hathaway was prepared for that.

"You'd better be prepared to prove where that cash is, Mr. Tucker, because I believe that you hired someone to run down Phil Beaumont."

"No." Tucker exclaimed. "I might coerce people to act to my political advantage, but I would never pay a hitman. And I would never kill anyone, especially not Phil Beaumont." Malcolm Tucker started to whisper something to his solicitor, presumably about his financial records.

"I'd like some time with my client." The solicitor demanded in a whiny tone. Hathaway went to rejoin his team on the other side of the glass.

Lewis spoke to Hathaway first. "Well done, lad. You've got him where we want him."

"Robbie, James, stop it! Malcolm didn't do this!" Laura bleated.

Hathaway was surprised to find both Lewis and Hobson there, listening to his interview. He glared at Innocent for allowing it. Even after Lewis had retired, unretired, and then retired again, Hathaway was still annoyed when Lewis meddled in his cases.

"Go home, Robbie. And take her with you." James said harshly.

* * *

Lewis and Hobson slowly ambled to their car, both feeling rather dejected. Malcolm Tucker burst forth from the police station in a fury. His solicitor was struggling to keep up with him. Tucker called to Hobson.

"I didn't do this, Laura. I'm a wretched old sod with no credibility, but they'll believe you. You're the only one who can help me, Laura." His eyes pulsed with desperation.

"I do believe you." Hobson gazed at Tucker sympathetically until Lewis cleared his throat rather loudly.

"Dudley Do-Right is watching you like a hawk, Hobs. Best not to keep him waiting. Believe it or not, I don't want to ruin your life twice."

Hobson blinked back to reality. "Thank you. I'll do what I can, Malcolm. But no promises, eh?"

She turned her back on Malcolm Tucker and fell in beside Lewis, who remained calm, though smoke might as well have been pouring from his ears. It was a tense ride home.

"We've got to help him, Robbie."

"I don't know what you want me to do, Laura."

"You can solve this case, I know you can. You're good with mysteries."

"What's this, love? Remember how much grief you gave me back when I came out of retirement? It's far too late to change your tune now! Besides, you heard James. He doesn't want me interfering with his case. Best to leave it to him and Maddox; they're good detectives. And there's a rugby match on telly tonight."

"Rugby?!" Hobson pouted.

"What? I'm retired." Lewis shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

* * *

Next: the importance of having a good breakfast


	7. Beating a Dead White Horse: part 3

Shortly before midnight, Hathaway pulled up his car in front of the Lewis-Hobson home. He saw that the lights were on downstairs, so he decided to ring the bell. Dr. Hobson answered, in her bathrobe.

"James, come in! Has there been a development in the case?"

"Not exactly, though I did get the post mortem report from Dr. Cook."

"Lucky you. I hope it's legible." Hobson was not fond of the second-string pathologist.

"A few too many misplaced apostrophes for my taste." Hathaway lamented as he surveyed the situation. Hobson seemed nervous and Lewis was nowhere to be seen. "It looks like you're waiting up. Is Robbie out?"

"Yes, ostensibly to watch a rugby match on a stupid-sized telly. His words."

"Are you two OK?"

Hobson nodded. "It's nothing that a good night's sleep and a big breakfast can't fix. Needless to say, I'll be making Robbie the mother of all fry-ups tomorrow morning."

Hathaway gave an exhausted but relieved smile for his friend. As long as breakfast was on offer, he knew that Lewis and Hobson would be fine. "I'm here to eat a little humble pie myself, Laura. I'm sorry about this afternoon."

"No, you were right, James; I shouldn't get involved. Even after all this time, I still have something emotionally invested in that man. But I can't help him, and my concern for Malcolm only upsets Robbie. So I'm stuck in a lose-lose situation."

Hathaway considered his options. "I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I wouldn't mind getting your professional opinion on Dr. Cook's report. Off the record, of course." He offered her a folder.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Hobson greedily snatched the folder from his hands and started to devour its contents. "Go make yourself some tea if you like. You know your way around the kitchen."

But Hathaway just plopped down on the couch as Hobson read. Hobson looked up several minutes later to see her guest nodding off. "James, go home, get some sleep. You can come back in the morning to collect the report. I'll throw on some extra eggs and bacon for you."

Hathaway knew that he shouldn't leave the report with Hobson, but he trusted her and was too tired to exercise good judgment. The two said good night and agreed to see each other in the morning for breakfast.

When Lewis came home, he was surprised to find Hobson in bed with her reading glasses on, the contents of a post-mortem report sprawled across the bed.

"I thought we'd agreed long ago to leave work out of the bedroom." He said.

"Extenuating circumstances," she answered. "I had a visitor tonight."

Lewis froze. He'd never forgive himself if he'd left his Laura vulnerable to a visit from Malcolm Tucker.

"Relax," Hobson said. "It was James. He wanted to apologise. I convinced him to leave Cook's report on Phil Beaumont's post-mortem. He'll be back to collect it tomorrow over breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Lewis perked up.

"See, I knew that would get you to stop sulking! Yes, dear Robbie, tomorrow I'll make you a proper fry-up!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Lewis shed his clothes and donned his pyjamas. "So, what do we have here?" He asked as he climbed into bed beside Hobson, being careful not to crush any of the papers she had scattered across the duvet.

"Inconclusive, as for if it was an accident or intentional. The only thing that is sure is that the marks on the body come from original equipment tyres for a Citroën."

"Hmm. Hathaway had mentioned paint residue on the victim in the interview room. What colour did he say that was?" Lewis asked.

"He didn't. But, according to the report, the car was red."

"Laura, I know this is a long shot, but… that journalist had a red Citroën. Of course, that was a few years ago, but when she was lying in wait outside our house trying to interview you I made a note of the make and model, as well as her plates. It was a Citroën DS3. In fact, I remember because it was a DS3, and well, I was a DS for many a year meself…"

"Of course! Marianne Swift! Why didn't I think of that?"

"You were pretty upset at the time, as I recall. Glad we have something to go on now. We'll tell James first thing in the morning." Lewis shut off the light on his side of the bed.

Hobson rolled herself across a supine Lewis and turned the light back on. "No, Robbie, we're calling James now!"

* * *

Lewis and Hobson were well rested the next morning, contrary to Hathaway and Maddox who had had a long night pursuing the new lead. By the time they made it to Hobson and Lewis' house the next day, breakfast had become brunch. Fortunately, Hobson had managed to rescue a portion of eggs and sausage from Lewis's hungry grasp for an ashen Hathaway, who had been up all night tracking the traces of Marianne Swift. Maddox nibbled on some fruit salad (after Hobson assured her it was free of kiwi, of course) as Hathaway explained their findings to Lewis and Hobson.

"Marianne Swift called her editor at the Guardian quite late on Friday, saying that she was headed to what's left of Ukraine. She wanted him to sign off right away to help her procure a journalist's visa. He thought it was strange at the time, but not unheard of. She said she had made an important contact and she had to go to break the story before someone else got there."

"So she got away," Lewis surmised, "but have you found the car?"

"That's the odd part. A journalist who wanted to report on an emerging crisis would fly to their destination, wouldn't they? But she took the car through the channel tunnel on Saturday! It seems likely that she ditched the car somewhere in France before taking a train east. We lost her trail somewhere after Germany."

"Much easier to hide an abandoned Citroën in France, I guess." Lewis conjectured.

Maddox picked up where Hathaway had left off. "Our working hypothesis right now is that Swift did not like that Tucker was writing his memoirs. His story had been her cash cow, and now she wanted to get inside information from Beaumont in advance of Tucker's book. Whatever Swift may have offered Beaumont, he refused out of loyalty to Tucker. They had an argument; he ended up underneath her car."

"So, Malcolm is no longer the focus of your inquiry?" Hobson ventured.

"Such as it is, that's right. You have Robbie to thank for that." Hathaway wanted to make sure that Lewis got his due.

Hobson came up behind Lewis and planted a kiss on his cheek before sliding another egg from the frying pan onto his plate. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

"My pleasure, pet. You know, we should solve crimes in bed more often."

"I can think of other things that I'd rather…"

But Hobson was interrupted by Hathaway demonstratively clanging his coffee cup against the saucer. "Thanks for breakfast, but I think that Maddox and I should be on our way now…"

* * *

A week later, Marianne Swift had confessed to killing Phil Beaumont, and Malcolm Tucker was enjoying a surge of publicity. After a round of interviews and promotions for his show, he found the time to come back to Oxford for a little peace and quiet.

He rang the doorbell at Lewis and Hobson's home. Hobson feared that her tranquility with Lewis would be shattered once more when she saw Tucker on the doorstep clutching a bouquet of flowers. Hobson was always weary of men bringing her flowers because it usually meant one of two things: they either wanted something or they were either apologising for some offense.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Tucker asked her with a sly grin as he foisted the flowers into her hand.

"You can't just turn up here uninvited, Malcolm."

Tucker pushed past Hobson and came face to face with Lewis.

"DI Lewis. I know that you and I will never be friends, but I want you to know that I appreciate what you did for me." He produced a bottle of fine scotch and presented it to Lewis.

"Anything for Laura," was Lewis' terse reply as he accepted the scotch.

"I'll drink to that, if you'll open the bottle." Tucker declared.

Lewis poured three tumblers of scotch.

"So what is next for you, Malcolm?" Hobson asked.

"My publisher wants my memoirs right away, while there is still interest. So I'm keen to find myself a new ghost writer. I can write champion speeches that bamboozle the public, but personal writing is hard work when you are meant to be brutally honest. '*&amp;^%$ it all' is all I want to say more often than not."

"I trust that you'll be kind in your treatment of your time with our Laura." Lewis prodded.

"Aye. Laura deserves to be happy. Don't worry; I won't drag her name through the mud when I stroll down memory lane. That's a promise."

"Good." Lewis answered. He got up and went to the writing desk where he kept an address book. He extracted a card and handed it to Malcolm Tucker. "This is contact information for Diane Turnbull. She's ghostwritten memoirs for ex-cons in the past. She's an old friend, mind you, so if you do contact her, treat her well."

Malcolm Tucker grinned. "Are we swapping exes, Lewis?"

"No. People aren't pawns." Lewis said, without a trace of superiority. That moment perfectly crystalised why Laura Hobson loved Robbie Lewis.

Once, she'd been thrilled to be attached to a high-roller like Malcolm Tucker. But she'd learned all too quickly that she was better off alone. Robbie Lewis, on the other hand, was a keeper- decent and honest. She knew it from the early days of their acquaintance: he valued the humanity in every person he met, even cantankerous old Morse. And now, Hobson thanked her lucky stars that Lewis cherished her especially. Hobson watched as the two men shook hands- more a formality than a friendship, but it was an entente nonetheless. She put her arm around Lewis and said goodbye to Malcolm Tucker for the last time.

* * *

Author note: I know that this crossover AU was slightly ridiculous, but I have had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you for reading!


End file.
